


Temper

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Dragons, M/M, loosely based forgotten realms au, very loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Temper, noun.a person's state of mind; angry or calm.the degree of hardness and elasticity in steel or other metal.Jack's looking for something, and he thinks Rhys can help him find it.





	Temper

**Author's Note:**

> For an au prompt on tumblr: rhack with dragons/shapeshifters. This ended up being more of a build up to a relationship, but I think you get the gist.

“What’s your interest - hrgh - in this dragon, anyway?” Rhys pants as he hauls himself up behind Jack. His fine clothes have been stained by the dust of the trail, and when he reaches the flat area where Jack’s waiting he brushes at them in dismay.

“I told you, that’s personal,” Jack huffs, waiting impatiently for Rhys to find his feet again. “You’re lucky I let you come along at all.”

“Am I,” Rhys murmurs, and Jack chooses not to hear him, striking up the trail when he’s sure Rhys is ready to move again.

Theoretically, as the one who’s been here before, Rhys should probably be in the lead; but he ambles too slowly for Jack’s taste, a soft city dweller unused to life outside the Citadel walls. Jack is amazed Rhys even made it up here  _ once _ , let alone returned to tell the tale. But the proof is there every time Jack glances back; a shiny steel arm, flexible and strong and clearly of inhuman make, attached seamlessly at the shoulder of his erstwhile traveling companion.

Everyone in the city  _ knows _ there’s a steel dragon living in the hills up above the Citadel. Hunstmen and rangers occasionally return with stories of a huge bulk glimpsed in the distance, the reflection of sunlight where there should be none. Jack himself remembers looking up as a child and seeing a huge winged shape flit over the city, blocking out the sun for a moment as people stared and pointed.

There’s definitely a dragon in these hills. It’s just that Rhys is the only person who seems to know where to  _ find _ it.

And that’s - odd, the more Jack thinks about it. Rhys is an artificer and an alchemist, not an adventurer. But he supposes the lure of knowledge  - and the promise of a new limb - is strong, for those types.

Jack’s reasons - well, the less Rhys knows about them, the better.

But Rhys won’t stop  _ asking _ .

“Do you want to kill it?” He says as he pushes through an overgrown trail behind Jack. “You seem ill-prepared for that.” Jack snorts, letting the branch in his hand slip out and snap backwards, but Rhys catches it before it can smack him in the face.

“No. Stop asking,” Jack orders, although he has a feeling it won’t do much good.

Indeed, Rhys asks again around the campfire that night. “Are you after its treasure then? Dragons don’t tend to like that, I’m told” he says, offering Jack a bowl of stew.

“I’m not interested in gold,” Jack says, and the only reason he says even  _ that  _ much is that the stew is really quite good, frankly better than Jack could have managed on his own. Jack grudgingly supposes that alchemists are good for their knowledge of spices, if nothing else.

“Hm,” is all Rhys says in reply, and Jack wonders if he noticed the omission.

“I hope you’re not planning on using me as a sacrifice,” he says out of nowhere the next day as they come to a fork in the trail. “For the dragon,” he says, when Jack scowls at him in confusion.

“I wasn’t, but I could be talked into it,” Jack says through gritted teeth. “Which way?” Rhys snorts, nodding to the right, and they head further up the incline.

“Are you sure this is it?” Jack says when they finally stand in front of a cave entrance. It’s wide and empty, but certainly not wide enough for a beast the size of a dragon. It doesn’t look like any creature large  _ or _ small has passed this way in some time.

“I’m sure,” Rhys says, standing at his shoulder. “This is the back entrance. Unless you’d rather scale that cliff?” He gestures up and strides forward, not waiting for an answer, the first time he’s taken the lead since they’d started out. Jack frowns up at the sheer cliff-face - there  _ might _ be the shadow of an opening up there, but it’s hard to see at this distance - and follows.

As they move further in, Jack realizes that the darkness isn’t complete; the cave walls gleam with veins of some phosphorescent mineral, lending the interior an iridescent glow as his eyes adjust. He still finds himself fumbling for the lantern in his pack, and the sudden orange bloom of light when he gets it lit is a comfort in the chill silence of the lair. Rhys looks back with raised eyebrows, the reflected lamplight dancing in his eyes, and Jack shrugs.

It’s not even ten minutes by Jack’s estimate before Rhys comes to a halt, peering into the gloom in the gently curving incline. Jack moves to push past him, but Rhys throws out an arm, halting him in his steps.

“ _ What _ -” Jack starts, but Rhys slants him a serious look and points.

“Ward,” is all he replies, and now that Jack’s looking he can see it - a faint shimmer in the air, reflecting the lamplight back at him. He looks up, but the shimmer seems to stretch up to the ceiling, and there’s a faint seam in where it meets the rock of the tunnel wall.

“I guess you’re not completely useless,” Jack allows. “Can you disable it?”

Rhys is already moving, reaching into a pouch and tossing a pinch of unidentifiable powder onto the shimmering wall in front of them. It seems to stick, hanging in the air with the faintest underlying sheen. Rhys draws an unfamiliar symbol into the dust and steps back, and Jack hastens to follow. The ward ripples for a moment, pulsing out from the symbol Rhys had drawn, and then simply fades out of existence as the powder bursts into flame and then burns out just as quickly.

“Flashy,” Jack says, and Rhys rolls his eyes.

“Hardly. Come on,” he says, gesturing.

They don’t encounter any more traps, magical or otherwise, and that is - that’s strange, Jack thinks. Aren’t dragons supposed to guard their lairs jealously? Jack may not have a lot - or any - experience with dragon hoards, but he’s heard stories, and this one seems almost under-defended, with only a single ward.

A ward that Rhys had known how to disable; had apparently been  _ prepared _ to disable. Although - he  _ has _ been here before. Perhaps the dragon had shown him.

Jack stares at Rhys’ back, moving confidently down the tunnel, and rests his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

At last a faint light begins to grow ahead of them, and as they round a final curve the tunnel flattens out into a wide, open chamber. Sunlight streams in from a high wide opening near the ceiling, and the room itself -

The room itself is filled with treasure of every kind imaginable: jewels, weapons, statues of jade and marble and stone that Jack doesn’t recognize - and coins, piles and piles of silver and electrum and gold, piled haphazardly in huge drifts around the room. It’s more wealth than the Citadel treasury holds, Jack’s sure; more wealth than he’d even  _ dreamed _ . The urge to drop to his knees and start filling his pack is strong, almost overwhelming -

But that’s not what he’s here for, and there is one thing that is obviously, glaringly missing.

Jack turns to Rhys, who is watching him curiously. “Where’s the dragon? You said you could bring me to it.”

Rhys blinks slowly. “I said I could show you where the lair was. I never promised anything about the dragon being  _ in _ it.”

Jack clenches his teeth. “Do you know when it will be back?” He manages.

Rhys shrugs. “Dragons keep their own schedules. Could be an hour, could be a month.”

Jack takes a deep breath, and then another. “That’s - that’s fine. You know what - that’s perfect, actually. We can find it while it’s not here, then we can be in and out, on our way with no one the wiser. You start looking over there,” he directs as he starts toward one of the piles of treasure.

“You’re planning on  _ stealing _ from a dragon?” Rhys sounds more amused than scandalized, at the very least, and he moves over in the direction Jack had directed. “What am I looking for?”

Jack hesitates, but he’s going to need Rhys’ help to search the entire room, unless he’s  _ incredibly _ lucky and finds it the first thing - 

“A map,” he decides. That much is safe. “Just - be on the lookout for any maps.” Rhys grumbles something, but he starts sifting through the pile in front of him. Jack turns back to his own pile and starts digging.

The first piece of vellum he finds appears to be some sort of incantation, and it tingles underneath his fingertips when he unrolls it. He tosses it aside quickly; some texts are better left unread, and Jack’s not practiced enough in magic to adequately defend against that kind of thing. He finds a bound stack of parchment that turns out to be a musical score, several books on herbs - what kind of collector  _ is  _ this dragon? - and a map case, an  _ actual _ map case that turns out to hold only a blank sheet of parchment. Jack throws the case in a fit of temper, but the faint tinkle it makes when it lands on a pile of coins is ultimately unsatisfying.

The light streaming in shifts as the sun moves across the sky, and the shadows of the day are growing long when Jack finally meets Rhys on the opposite side of the room. Jack’s half was disappointingly empty, but maybe Rhys has had better luck -

But although Rhys has found several maps - of trade routes, constellations, and of cities so old Jack doesn’t even know their names - not  _ one _ of them is the map Jack is looking for. Jack clenches his fist, almost ready to  _ scream _ in frustration -

“What were you hoping to find here?” Rhys’ voice is gentle, curious, and if he’s at all worried by the prospect of a steel dragon returning to find them rummaging through its hoard, he doesn’t look it. Jack blows out a breath.

He might as well share. This had been the last lead he had in this province; maybe Rhys will know of somewhere else he can try his luck.

Jack heads back toward the tunnel entrance where he had dropped his pack, gesturing for Rhys to follow. He crouches, glancing up as he undoes the ties, and when he’s sure he has Rhys’ undivided attention he pulls out the Vault Key.

It’s as beautiful as he remembers it, every time, lit from the inside by a purple iridescence that is nonetheless cool to the touch. As the shifting light plays over Rhys’ shocked face, Jack grins, standing.

“I went through a lot of trouble to get this,” and that’s a  _ wild _ understatement, but Rhys doesn’t need the whole story; and indeed, he doesn’t look like he’s hearing Jack at all, reaching out hesitantly. His hand hovers over the surface for a moment, but he pulls it back, folding his hands behind his back as if to keep himself from touching.

“I have the key,” Jack says, and Rhys’ eyes snap up to his. “I just don’t know where the lock is.”

“You need a map to a Vault,” Rhys says quietly, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“ _ Yeah _ , but there isn’t one here, so unless you’ve heard of -”

“Why didn’t you just say so,” Rhys interrupts, and Jack blinks as Rhys turns on his heel, reaching for the map case Jack had found and discarded early on.

“I already checked that one, it’s blank - ” Jack trails off as Rhys unrolls the blank sheet of parchment, kneeling on the floor and weighing the corners down with piles of coins.

“Jack,” Rhys says chidingly. “You should know that appearances aren’t everything. But then again,” he continues, drawing a dagger - where did he get that from? - and positioning his wrist over the center of the parchment. “You seem to have difficulty seeing what’s right in front of you.”

There’s a faint ringing in Jack’s ears and he feels frozen in place as Rhys draws the dagger up his wrist, parting the skin and letting blood spill bright red onto the parchment below. When it hits, the droplets scatter and split, thinning out into lines that bloom over the page that form - 

A map. A map with a very familiar symbol at the center.

Jack tears his eyes away to look at Rhys, who’s putting pressure on his wrist, and as Jack watches the skin seals back up, smooth and unblemished. Rhys stands, and in the fading sunlight his shadow seems to stretch and elongate along the cave walls, spreading wide, spreading into -

Jack stares as Rhys’ shadow spreads its wings, and Rhys smiles gently at him.

“My ancestors made this map, long before you can even imagine,” he says, and his voice echoes with a gravelly underlay. “Do you really think they’d let just anyone read it?”

Then he blinks, and he’s just Rhys again, the gangly artificer-alchemist whom Jack had met by chance in a pub. Jack wonders now just how much chance there had been in that meeting, after all.

“Relax,” Rhys says, glancing at the Key in Jack’s hands, and Jack’s grip tightens even more. “I’m not going to try and take it from you. Vault Keys have to be given, or their power fades. Everyone knows that.”

Everyone does know that. But Jack also knows that Vault Keys don’t differentiate between something given freely and something given under...duress. Rhys doesn’t appear to have such things in mind, though, kneeling and rolling up the parchment as the lines fade again.

“You came here to ask the steel dragon a question,” Rhys says, sliding the map back in its case. “So ask it.”

Jack shifts where he stands, Vault Key warm in his hands, a whole new realm of possibilities opening up in front of him.

“Not a question,” he says, and Rhys raises his eyebrows. “Not anymore. A partnership. I need you to get there; you need me to open it. We split what’s in the Vault, fifty-fifty.”

Rhys hums as he slings the map case over his back. “And what do you expect to find in this Vault? They change, you know, depending on what you’re looking for.”

“Power,” Jack breathes without hesitation, and he’s not magic, his eyes can’t actually glow with the force of his determination - but he can feel it burning inside, and he thinks Rhys can see it too, from the way he taps his fingers thoughtfully against the map case.

“At last,” he says, and his grin  _ definitely _ didn’t use to have that many teeth in it. “An honest answer.”

“I think we can work together,” Rhys says, extending his hand, wrist still smeared with blood. “Partners?”

Jack matches him grin for grin, shifting the Vault Key to one hand and clasping Rhys’ hand. His skin is warm, almost burning to the touch.

“Partners.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!
> 
> Also if you want to read more about steel dragons, I took inspiration from [this](http://dragons.wikia.com/wiki/Steel_Dragon_\(Dungeons_%26_Dragons\)).


End file.
